Cold
by jesuisl0ser
Summary: The only thing Collins remembers about going to Church is that it always was so cold. Collins' feelings at Angel's funeral. OneShot, AngelCollins. R&R, please.


**A/N: I was bored and I wrote this Collins fic. I hope you enjoy. Also, those of you who are "Why Am I the Witness" by Sam (ILikeScarves) and I, don't worry, neither of us have given up on the fic. Sam's internet is on the fritz so we haven't been able to work on it. Never fear, we shall return to it soon!**

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Cold.

That was all I could think of when I shuffled awkwardly into the quiet church building. I couldn't remember the last time I'd even stepped foot into a church since I was a kid. The only thing I remembered about it from my childhood was that it had always been so _cold_. Not only the temperature, but the atmosphere itself made me shudder.

I recalled sitting in a pew once a week at the age of eleven or twelve. Even at a young age I liked to analyze people. I would turn ever so quietly to face the parishioners sitting behind me, and crane my neck to see those in front of me. And they all looked to me as if they just couldn't wait to get home. Being one to always question things (that hasn't changed), I would ask myself:_ If they're supposed to be devoted to God or something like that, then why do they make it so clear that they'd rather be somewhere else? Is it really devotion at all if you're practically dragging yourself to Church every Sunday? Isn't it more like a bargain? 'Hey, if I come every Sunday, will you send me to heaven?' _

When I would stare too long at a particular person, they'd look back at me with such a glare that could only be described as, well, cold. Then I'd follow everyone else as they stood, sat down, knelt, stood up again, and said prayers as a group...But I never really knew what any of it meant. There was a point where I had a choice, and I just stopped going altogether—only because I never understood why it really _mattered_. I'm just one in millions and millions of people, I'd say to myself, and God has a lot more people to look out for. What difference would it make if He paid any attention to me?

At least I knew what I was doing there this time around. October 31st—Halloween. But no masks or costumes in the world could hide the pain I was feeling. Carefully taking off my dark leather coat, I surveyed my surroundings. It wasn't one of those extravagant, huge and brightly-lit churches. It was simple. I was happy about that. Angel would have liked it this way, too. But she wasn't there to tell me so.

The priest, Father Something-or-Other, muttered a thing or two about how things would work. I wasn't paying any attention. I was too busy looking at his stone-cold face; into his harsh green eyes. The coldness again. There was a look of resentment in his eyes_. He doesn't accept people like me and Angel_, was my first thought, _I can already tell he's disgusted that I'm standing here right now._

Since I obviously was the first one there, I took my seat at the front row of the pew. Angel's coffin was in front of the altar. There wasn't to be any big procession or loud organ music. She wouldn't have wanted it even if we could have afforded it. I gulped just looking at the reflection of the lights on the casket's shining wood. Honestly, I was afraid of what I was going to say during the eulogy. I wanted it to be special. Something that my Angel could hear even from far away; wherever she was. I clutched onto my coat a little tighter as the doors in the back of the church opened again. Mark and Roger had arrived.

I turned to face them as they entered. Roger had his hands stuffed in his pockets, his head down. Mark's eyes were shifting back and forth nervously. I stood up to greet them, but I couldn't find the right words to say. Instead, I pulled skinny Mark into a tight hug, and it took him a little off-guard. I pulled away and did the same to Roger, who would be leaving for Santa Fe a little while after the funeral. I hadn't been surprised when I found out. _Way to solve your problems, Rog. Running away won't do shit, trust me._

"How are you holding up?" Mark whispered, taking a seat two rows behind me.

I nodded a little. "I'm okay."

Roger sat down next to Mark and looked around the church aimlessly. He was distant; in some far off world of his own. I couldn't blame him. His relationship with Mimi was dwindling by the minute, one of his close friends was dead, and he was leaving it all behind in a couple of hours in a used vehicle that would take him to the place we'd daydreamed about not so long ago.

Maureen and Joanne came; then Mimi with Benny in tow. Steve was there, too. And Paul. They all came. I didn't think everyone would, but they did. Just goes to show how much my Angel had been able to touch the hearts of everyone she met.

I felt a lump form in my throat as the priest began to walk down the aisle. He went up to Angel's coffin and sprinkled some Holy Water on it. I looked over to Joanne on the other side of the rows. She was sobbing. I had to look away before the tears that were burning in my eyes would start to fall. The pastor said a few words and some prayers that seemed to fade out into echoes in my mind. He went to sit down in his chair, and that was when we were supposed to take over for the eulogy.

Mimi stood up, her bony legs shaking as she made her way to the altar.

"Angel was one of my closest friends," she began. I closed my eyes, feeling them well up again as she continued, "It's right that it's Halloween, because it was her favorite holiday...This skinhead was bothering her, and she said she was more of a man than he'd ever be and more of a woman than he'd ever get."

Though the tears started falling, I smiled at Mimi's words. Typical Angel.

Mimi sniffed loudly and made her way back to her seat, and before I knew it, Mark was standing up there sheepishly, looking down at his hands. "And then, there was the time he walked up to this group of tourists..." He looked as if he'd fall over right then and there, and I knew that the only reason he had been willing to do this was because he was doing it for _me_. "...And he..._she_ just offered to escort them out of Alphabet City...and then she let them take a picture with her...and then she said she'd help them find the Circle Line." I watched as he smiled a little at the memory before biting his lower lip and going back to the pew.

Maureen went up there next, glancing over at Angel's coffin in utter sadness before turning to face everyone. She talked about Angel's originality and sense of style. "You always said how lucky you were that we were all friends...but it was us, baby, who were the lucky ones."

I bent my head and let the tears drip onto the coat on my lap. It was my turn, now. I stood up, taking a shaky breath. Maureen embraced me quickly before hurrying back to her seat.

At first, when I stood up it was as if my feet were glued to the ground. I could barely move. _Come on, Collins, get your act together. This is for Angel_, I scolded myself. Then, finally, step by step, I made my way to the altar.

The coffin was cold and dry when I pressed my fingers against it. Shuddering, I turned to look at the forlorn faces staring back at me. I licked my lips a little, because suddenly my mouth had become very dry and everything had started to spin. This prompted me to squeeze so hard on the coat in my hands that my fingers began to turn red. Over and over, I reminded myself that I was doing all of this for Angel, and eventually, I mustered up enough courage to speak. They were words that only she and I had known, but those words were the only ones I had.

"_Live in my house, I'll be your shelter_

_Just pay me back with one thousand kisses_

_Be my lover, and I'll cover you, yeah_..."

I choked back the tears that were ready to explode from behind my eyelids and flow down my face like a waterfall. My heart was racing and I felt sick. But I never stopped. I thought of her—her voice, her laughter, her smile, her kindness and sincerity, that cute way she would toss her fake locks of hair from side to side...

"_If you're cold and you're lonely; you've got one nickel only_

_When you're worn out and tired; when your heart has expired_

_Oh, lover, I'll cover you. Yeah, oh, lover, I'll cover you..._"

I sang out the final word with everything I had; with my whole heart. And, for those few seconds, it was _warm_. The church...it almost glowed. I looked up at the ceiling above me and felt the warmth cascade down onto my frozen and empty body.

Before I knew it, I was standing there like an idiot in front of everyone with nothing else to say. Yet, I could tell they understood. I bit my lower lip and took slow and shaky steps down the steps of the altar. The priest said some things and did some things...the holy water again...it all was but a blur to me (not only because my eyes were blinded by the tears, but also because I wasn't thinking straight—I hadn't been since she passed on).

I couldn't stop thinking about the warmth I had been feeling since the eulogy...in that place that I had always found to be so cold and deserting. Yes, there had been pain and sorrow and agony...hell, that day had been one of the most difficult experiences I had ever endured. Still, I sang my heart out to Angel, and for the first time since I was little...I _believed_. I believed that she was listening to me. And sure enough, that familiar feeling of comfort and safety had made its way into my shattering heart. It had been her spirit—I was sure of it.

Angel helped me believe.

And, somehow, it wasn't so cold anymore.


End file.
